Reason

Sure, maybe the daring Obelisk has three bounties on her head, posted in the three most populous cities in the Tangled Wood. But there’s no bounty-hunter that she can’t take down with a swift ease befitting her terrifying status. She allows herself a smirk, rifling through her newly-pilfered belongings. In a small side pouch of the traveler’s bag she’d pinched is a log with the dragon’s name scrawled on the top of it. So, the dragon the Obelisk has stolen from is named Nia. Lovely knowledge — what a pity she won’t be using it anytime soon.

Had the Obelisk actually been attentive enough to open the log, she would see entries describing various deeds that would immediately encourage the Obelisk to leave the traveling pack. Little did she know, of course. The Bogsneak lazily lying in the brush some meters behind her is unmoving, her eyes tracking the Obelisk’s every motion with laser-sharp precision.

The Nebulans have fallen upon times where they actually seek out commissions and bounties, not just lying there waiting for someone to beg at their doorstep. The Bogsneak is not a fan of this desperate approach. The little tag attached by a chain around her snakelike neck is carved with a single word — a name. Nia. She’d already set up the trap, of course. The Nebulans’ logician Vienna, looking fragile and light as a Skydancer, had been the one posing as Nia.

The trap was irresistible. If Nia had been a moronic, drooling thief, she too would have taken the bait. However, that Nia is not. She’s clever, sneaky, and prefers to go for a quick dispatch. However, the mouths of dead dragons can’t confess to any crimes, and so she can’t go for a quick dispatch. The Guardian besides her, Gemi, is here to make sure that she doesn’t go for the kill.

“Wait for it,” Gemi counsels her, the sharp patterns on his scales camouflaging in the half-dead brush. “Don’t lunge too early. Remember the trap.”

Nia’s eyes are half-closed as she stretches her arms, long, brutal claws extending. “Oh, I know. Wake me up when it’s my turn.” She’s not interested if there’s no blood, and in the case of the Obelisk greedily rummaging through the backpack, there is no blood. She wanted to place a trap inside the pack, but it might go off while they were still traveling.

Gemi cautiously glances at the Obelisk, buttoning the sack back up again with a disappointed look. There hadn’t been any treasure in the sack, just some Shadow Serpent sheds. Rather an unfunny prank suggested by the Shadow dragons of the Nebulans. Clearly, Shadow Serpent skins had some sort of importance to Shadow dragons. Not like Nia was raised as one. Softly, he stalks through the brush until he is suddenly straightened up, approaching the Obelisk from the side. She glances at him guiltily, picking the pack up as if it was originally hers. Nia crouches down, continuing to wait patiently. “Hello, good lady!” he greets in a painfully false voice.

“I don’t have any directions,” the Obelisk says dismissively, attempting to edge past him.

“I believe you have something that belongs to my kin,” Gemi finally gets to the point, his voice growing sharp. The Obelisk’s slow brain realizes this is a trap rather quickly, faster than Nia would have thought. “And here I am, offering a friendly way to retrieve it.”

The Obelisk chooses the wrong option. Snarling, she swings it over her shoulder, hooking it around her wing. “Come and damn well take it, then.” Of course she’d think Gemi’s just a large softie. (She’d be wrong.)

Slowly, Nia gets up and strolls over from behind, and now is when the Obelisk knows she has chosen the wrong option. “Oh, thank you. I will.” Proceeding to ignore Gemi’s earlier warning (“And don’t hurt her, they don’t like violence”), she raises one giant paw and proceeds to bludgeon the Obelisk over the head. Multiple times, too, as the Obelisk stares blankly at her at first in shock, then in pain.

Finally looking up, the diminutive Bogsneak sighs, retracting her claws. “Let’s go, Gemi. Got any rope?”

“No,” Gemi says, opening the bag on the Obelisk’s shoulder. “But we have all of these snakeskins. It would be such a pity to let them go to waste.”

The sunlight is particularly bright, reflecting off of the shining table at which four dragons are seated. On one side sits two Imperials, one an abyss blue, and the other obsidian black. On the other is seated a Pearlcatcher, shimmering in a beautiful ivory hue, and a Skydancer glittering in hues of golden and silver.

Both of the Imperials are visibly uncomfortable; they’re both squinting and averting their gaze from the table and how it seems to glow radiantly in the sunlight. The Skydancer is simply staring blankly at the uncomfortable Shadow dragons, but the Pearlcatcher’s arrogant voice is the one to break the silence. The divide between the Lightweaver’s children is evident as both the Imperials and Pearlcatcher are occasionally glowering at each other. “We are rather pleased that you would gather here with us for negotiations,” the Pearlcatcher informs in a voice that clearly denotes his disdain.

“Yes, well, it was necessary,” the obsidian Imperial flicks his tail. “It’s rather difficult to cope with such extravagant, foolish illumination.” His words quite obviously strike a nerve in the Pearlcatcher (the Skydancer is still neutrally staring off into the distance.)

“I assume you’re the representatives from Clan Shadowed Skies, then?” the Pearlcatcher continues. “Quite pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Gleam and this is Glimmer.” He sounds far from pleased, and so does the Skydancer — Glimmer — besides him.

The obsidian Imperial nods briefly. “Pleased to be acquainted, of course. I’m Scorpius, and my companion here is Aqualia. She doesn’t speak much unless it’s a threat, I’m afraid.” Besides him, Aqualia snorts loudly, but maintains her silence, her tail twitching in midair as she stares down at the dragons across from her.

“What is the complaint you wish to present?” Gleam’s discomfort finally shows, a crack in the Pearlcatcher’s pristine (and glittery) façade.

“You know well that allying with the Shade directly is a crime in all views. It is an abhorrent way of life, and action must be taken against followers of the Shade. This is common knowledge, yet why is it that defectors list your clan as the clan of origin?” Scorpius summarizes neatly, but his words do not hold any warmth.

“Of course,” Gleam’s smile is sharp and bares his teeth. “How is it that you have gotten these dragons to defect? For I believe they are only trying to tarnish our reputation. You understand, I’m sure, that we are well feared amongst the Shade’s ranks.”

For the first time, Aqualia speaks, tail lashing violently. “Oh … we made them defect. I can provide details, if you’re … heh, not inclined to believe me.”

Gleam looks suitably cowed, and Scorpius’s tail slaps Aqualia across the flank, earning a withering glare. His whisper of, “If you antagonize them, I will break that pact and kill you oh so fast,” is heard by both Light dragons. Resuming his professional tone, he continues, “We are assured that they would not provide false information. They all have Light eyes, and they are not wearing lenses. Frankly speaking, your words do not reassure us, for they may contain falsehoods. Besides this, it is a fact that your clan is by no means feared. You have never made your presence against the Shade known.”

Gleam is starting to become more uncomfortable, and Glimmer is staring at Scorpius, seemingly transfixed now. “Ah, you want proof … that we aren’t collaborating with the Shade? We can certainly provide evidence, but I am concerned with your implications that we are lying. Surely this isn’t a dormant insecurity, ah, related to the Lightweaver’s favor between our two species?”

Aqualia yanks Scorpius’s tail violently, the boa resting on her head releasing a long hiss, but he speaks before she can. “The egoisms of the Lightweaver’s most gifted yet most ignorant creation evades my understanding, I’m afraid. We would request permission to procure our own information.”

Glimmer finally speaks, voice hoarse and harsh. “… how dare you? You … you’re a Shade monster, aren’t you!” He almost lunges at Scorpius, but Aqualia’s tail suddenly snakes over Glimmer’s body, trapping the Skydancer in her coils, dangling him in the air as if examining an oddity.

“You owe me for this,” she says to Scorpius with a huff. He glares at her, mouthing several swears, then glances at a horrified Gleam.

“Of course, I am. The Shade corrupted me, and this is why I am fervently opposed to them. You are preventing me from doing this, holding my standing before the Lightweaver in question. Do you really think I’m blind? I assure you, I will purge the Shade from among you, and you will not stop me.”

“You’re Shade-touched?” Gleam questions, still in shock. It could be argued that this shock seems falsified.

“Wasn’t that obvious?” Scorpius chuckles slightly. “Now. If you’ll excuse us, we will reschedule our meeting. My coworker and I will be off now. Aqualia, please stop throttling this poor creature.”

Aqualia releases Glimmer, dropping him to the ground in feigned boredom and immediately getting up, towering over every present dragon. Barely visible over her dark form are dried bloodstains, ominously defined by the light. “Heard him? You’re a monster,” she taunts, aiming her jibe at Scorpius, her voice perfectly neutral. “You aren’t as virtuous as you look.”

“I don’t look virtuous, do you happen to be blind?” Scorpius responds in kind, easing into a familiar rhythm, as they begin to make their way away from the Mirrorlight Promenade, leaving two shocked dragons in their wake.

Aqualia simply huffs, changing the subject — “I cannot believe he brought the feud between Pearlcatchers and Imperials up.”

“Ah. Something we finally agree on.”

The purple Imperial is light on her talons as she treads towards the gate of bone that marks her destination. The cat atop her head is curled up and napping quietly. It is silent, yet the Imperial’s eyes are never still, darting around frantically.

She is right to be watchful, for only seconds later, a whiplike tail strikes out of the darkness, whistling only an inch from the Imperial’s ear. She sighs softly, glancing back as Aqualia emerges, an approving expression on her face. “I see your reflexes are good as ever. Hello, Karine.”

Karine’s voice is undoubtedly frosty as she answers. “Greetings to you as well, Mother. A lovely way to greet me, attempting to kill me yet again, don’t you think?”

Aqualia hisses out a breath of laughter. “You would really wish me to greet you at the gate with a loving hug?”

“… Well. When you put it that way,” Karine starts, “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

The mother and daughter stroll through the bone gate, into a large clearing. A ring has been outlined by stones, and three massive tunnels are dug into the brambles around the clearing. Three chatting dragons filter out of the tunnel opposite them; Scorpius, a pastel purple Skydancer with a wicked look in her dark eyes, and an energetic Pearlcatcher with the Shade clearly writhing over her scales. Karine can’t help the small smile lift the corner of her lips.

“Karine!!!” The Pearlcatcher hurtles towards Karine, slamming into the Imperial’s throat and climbing onto her shoulder. “My favorite niece!!”

“Heh. I’m your only niece, Carina. Would you like to spar?” Karine offers her namesake as the Pearlcatcher, resembling a whirlwind, darts up Karine’s neck to wrap herself around Karine’s cat, accompanied by happy cooing from Carina, as the cat yowls in protest.

“Kaze arrived already,” the Skydancer informes Karine. “It’s so lovely to see you again. We really did miss you; Leo wants to spar with you again. He claims he’s gotten better, but I could win a duel against him with one talon.”

Karine chuckles slightly. “Of course. I missed you as well, Leilani.” She has to speak louder, as Carina is squealing over her cat.

“Will you be staying with us for a few days?” Scorpius inquires, his expression a friendly mask.

“Preferably,” Karine responds, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “You’re quite cheerful, aren’t you. What happened?”

“He bested Aqualia in a duel,” Carina chirps. “Finally. I was so tired of seeing him fail.”

“Shut up,” Scorpius snaps at his sister. “The Nebulans happen to be packed up right now, and we’re moving towards the Nightmares.”

“Murdering cultists?” Karine interprets. “How could I ever say no to that wonderful idea of a family reunion?”

Aqualia has appeared over Karine’s shoulder, her voice frigid. “Keep your senses about you. Shade-touched are dangerous, impulsive, and loveless beings.”

“That sounded targeted. I wonder why,” Scorpius remarks, staring up at the ceiling of the clearing nonchalantly. Aqualia only glares at him.

“If you’re ready,” Leilani interrupts the budding argument with practiced ease, “we’ll catch up with Kaze and the rest briefly. Don’t be offended, but I miss bloodshed most.”

“Is this truly what must be done?” For once, Scorpius sounds rather unsure, but says nothing at the scalding look Aqualia shoots him.

“This is the fourth time that you’ve tried to murder me in my sleep this week, and I’ve returned the favor. Besides. We don’t need them. It’s the perfect solution.” The Imperial hatchling in her claws looks up at her with wide eyes. The skeleton patterning against their blue scales ends in a small heart-shaped nose. Aqualia’s tone is casual, cold. She is reminded of her twin brother, and the clan he is slowly building — the clan he builds with his puppet of a partner and children who want anything but to be trapped under a psychopath. She knows hatchlings can be anything but sweet and innocent.

“These are innocent hatchlings. We could … just let them go, and use our own blood,” Scorpius offers, still unsure, but Aqualia says nothing for a long time, tail lashing.

“That they are not. They will never be innocent. They are tainted, by the blood of my brother, the blood of the most evil dragon that has walked Sornieth’s land. And they are tainted by the Shade. They will become abominations, and one of us will be dying rather soon if we continue these … assassination attempts. I don’t intend the deceased one to be me,” she finally answers, her voice perfectly level. “If you think of breaking this oath, if you even consider that within your rotten heart, I hope you think of this. Your little wishes and hopes that I mysteriously die will not be worth this suffering.”



The blood splatters over the clearing. There’s simply pools of it, and in the center is drawn an uneven circle, shining in the dim moonlight. Scorpius thinks he can scent rot on the wind already. Between the Imperials lies a crystalline goblet filled to the top with blood. They are both silent as they dip claws into it and mark a scroll with intricate swirls, painting a picture born of suffering — but not their own.

Only once the oath is finished does one of them speak — Scorpius, unnerved by the silence and the flat, deathly stare Aqualia has fixed on him. “What about … them?” He gestures towards the woods, speaking no more. Aqualia only tips her head.

“The Gladekeeper has her way,” is her only answer. “Your mind is set, you believe that I am simply as evil as my blood would say, yet you must understand — and I believe you will. One day, we both will be forced into a deathly situation. You know very well that this would lead us to betray each other as easily as we breathe.”

“Yes, but … blood oaths are not usually done with the blood of your offspring. Children are not simply evil. They are not born evil,” Scorpius objects, staring at the goblet of blood before, a testament to this commitment.

A flash of anger seems to illuminate Aqualia’s features before the massive Imperial turns away. “Some are. It is in their blood. Who’s to say which child might become a monstrous killer? Who’s to say they won’t vow revenge for imagined slights against them and commit atrocities?”

“Like you, or Carina, or Leilani, or Chara, or I, or any of us?” Scorpius objects loudly.

“No. We are flawed indeed, but our flaws serve the greater good, and that is what I would like to consider —“ Aqualia’s irritated voice is interrupted by a small, barely audible squeak. Both Imperials freeze, eyes slowly swiveling to the origin of the squeak. An Imperial hatchling — a living and perfectly well one, too, purple with dark blue wings. A whitish skeleton pattern is painted on her scales as well, and only her head peeps above the serpentine coil she’s curled into.

Scorpius strides towards the tiny creature, his tail sweeping her up easily. “The pact is over, Aqualia. I will not harm you. I trust you won’t do the same. There is no need.”

Aqualia sighs, sinking onto her haunches as if defeated, sweeping her wings around herself. The specks of dried blood glint in the moonlight, and she gazes at them as if the curse still burns her memory. “We will not imprint onto a Shade-touched hatchling blood and horror, as its first memory, then cast it out. It is a foolish idea.”

“I know. She’s mine now.”

“What.” Her voice does not resemble a question at all, or any surprise. Simply abject disappointment.

“Her name is Karine.”

The Nebulans are a mercenary group, and during their reign they were both highly sought after and highly feared. They had a tendency to collect and attract the most lethal dragons, and they recognized possibility in the most diminutive dragons, and that is why they number thirteen; Shade-touched, morally ambiguous, blessed, possessed, anything a typical group would turn their nose up at. The Nebulans are divided into three groups. The Dire Vault is the group that relies on wits and cunning, leading the group and doing it excellently. The Void Walkers are silent, merciless assassins, lethal and chaotic. The Hellion Haunt is made up of the creative backbone of the Nebulans, artists in their own way, yet nothing to scoff at. There are “honorary Nebulans,” in a way; those raised inside the Nebulans’ circle, but choosing a different path. Karine, Zephyros and Seskel, children of Nebulans, are included, as well as Chara, a Skydancer residing as a spy in the cult of the Nightmares.

Speaking of honorary Nebulans … Scorpius, Aqualia, and their offspring, and their generally murderous siblings and ancestors in any means and the Corrupted Pearls are all strung together under the perfectly descriptive name of The Murder Family, with which they are usually described.